by Amarie Avant
“You’re mine, Reese.” Evan says, unbuckling his belt. “I saw him as a threat that needed to be extinguished.”
“Jamie and I murdered a man before.” I blurt. Evidently my heart craves full and utter transparency.
“When? How?”
“We were teens. The guy… he was one of my mom’s boyfriends, I guess she didn’t marry the truly disgusting pigs after all,” I turn toward the tub. Steam bellows in the air due to the rush of hot water. The tub is to the brink. I turn the spouts.
“Talk to me,” Evan is behind me in an instant. This is me running away from a hard conversation and he knows it.
Determining never to have another secret from this man, I turn around. His pants riding low on his narrowed hips. All bruised and banged up, my love for him grows stronger still.
“Tell me,” he urges.
“Oh, Evan, I never want to hide a thing from you. There’s a war raging in my heart and my mind. I don’t even know what just got into me to mention this, since I promised Jamie I’d never tell, even after Riker, he said he didn’t mind—”
“Reese, stop going off on a tangent. Tell me.”
“Mom had gotten mad at her boyfriend for something or the other. She was always temperamental. She’d gone out with her sister. I was home, dumb as I am, listening to earphones, I’m usually smarter when my mom gets into fights, being that certain folks like to use me as a form of retaliation, I run quicker than she does. But not that day,” I shrug.
“Tangent.”
“Alright. The creep let himself into my locked bedroom. He offered me the chance to give him a blowjob, even had a crumply Jefferson in his hand as payment. He took my hard ‘no’ for a soft ‘yes’, and the fucker slugged me in the mouth.” My gander flits away from Evan, he’s angry at the words I’m saying. Do I sound cheap for telling such truths?
Shoving a hand through my tangled tresses, I continue, “Jamie was on his way by. I had forgotten he wanted to see this new Liam Neeson movie. Jamie must have heard and bashed his lights out with a lamp. Jamie didn’t mean to hit the bastard so hard, but … we took the guy’s body across the street. Honestly, I lived in the hood, so it wasn’t too hard to nudge his lifeless body in the right direction. We made it look like…”
“A gang initiation,” we say together.
Evan’s hand grazes the back of my neck, his eyes close and he breathes in the hair at the crown of my head as he sometimes does. “I fucking hate your mother, Reese. There, the truth’s out. I had to say it.”
“I had a feeling. Not many people like her. I’m sorry, I’m sorry she is with your father.”
“He’ll grow the fuck up one day, hopefully sooner rather than later.”
“Yeah, I hope it’s sooner.” I glance away, and then I tell the truth, “I don’t want her bullshit and the dynamics of their relationship to ruin what we have, Evan. That’s happened before with friends of mine. Sheesh, what am I saying? I don’t like her most times either, her love is suffocating.”
“Nobody will come between you and I, not even you. I haven’t allowed your misconceptions to ruin us, so I refuse to let anybody else do it.” Evan holds me at arm’s length.
I expect him to question Lolita’s love for me period. But he doesn’t, and for now, I have no energy to give a shit about her so-called love either. Perhaps, we will never speak again. I believe with Evan, I’m strong enough. I rock onto the balls of my feet and kiss his lips. “Your love is life, Tino.”
He laughs. “So you’re gonna start calling me Tino?”
“Occasionally, you’re turning into a bad boy, not the anal cop I met in a disgusting dive bar, not at all. Now, I was going to order you to the tub before it gets cold, but I believe we should cleanse you another way.”
“No, I need your goodness to clean me. Just let out a lot of the water, Reese. Long as it doesn’t touch my stitches I’m good.” Evan pulls his pants down. His cock is molded to his briefs and I gulp. He takes those off, and my mouth fills with liquid lust. Sheesh, him roughing up my body is the antidote for the day, yet the scar traveling over his skin has me hesitant about trying my luck.
Evan gets into the tub first, he sits on the second to the top ledge, the water laps at sturdy legs and thighs, but doesn’t rise any higher. Though I could use an entire body soak, I kneel onto the ground and cleanse him first with a sponge.
“Get in here,” he growls.
I chuckle. There’s room enough but I’m clumsy.
Evan massages his cock as I step a leg over his hips and then plant both feet on either side of him.
“I’m tired, Reese, get to work,” his hazel eyes sparkle a forbidden sin as he nods toward his cock.
“Okay, babe, no heavy lifting for you.”
I bow down near his calves, bend over, and let my tongue dip out to taste the very tip of his strong, curved crown. The most addictive cocaine seems to be infused in my bloodstream as his thickness widens my mouth. My jaw slackens so more of his slick, hard dick can be accommodated.
“Babe, come here, let me see how wet my pussy is.”
“Evan… I don’t think we should…”
“Now,” he commands.
My curvy thigh straddles over his hips, my knees bracing against the bottom of the tub.
“Mmmmm,” I moan. My womanhood sinks down onto Evan as I match his gaze. His eyes twinkle in amusement, he places his big muscular arms behind his head, and the bathtub has become his throne.
I smile, yet roll my eyes at how cocky he is being. While grinding on his shaft, I lean down and kiss his neck. Licking the semi-salty pulsation in Evan’s carotid artery, I imagine our hearts beat in harmony before I even realize I’m doing so.
“Fuckkkkk,” Evan says as I rub against his scar.
“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice…” I pout and start to apologize profusely.
“You haven't apologized so much since we met.”
I smile weakly. “But…”
“Keep fucking me, Reese,” he growls. I position myself over his cock again. I shove my hair back with one hand, and grind against his shaft.
“This is what life is made for,” Evan takes a refreshing breath as I gyrate on him. My hips swivel around and his manhood finds solace in the deepest oceans of my walls.
“God, I love you, Evan,” I smile down at him. He reaches up and paws my damp breast. His thumb flicking over the hardened nub as my pussy continues to stroke ever so softly up and down his shaft.
Evan grips my hips; his biceps are large mounds of all muscle as he increases my friction. I begin to pant, squatting over him. My toes crunch beneath my feet and I orgasm. His finger flicks over my clit, my head falls back.
“Don’t fucking stop, Reese,” he orders.
My eyes close, perspiration dotted along my face. Evan slaps my hip and then grips my ass. I get back to work, my ass and hips swiveling as my walls glide over his cock.
His come squirts inside of me, in such a warm, tingling sensation that I start to quiver.
A few minutes later, I lean against my own side of the tub for a moment of rest, my thighs are warm from work. After cleansing him, and cleaning myself as best I can with the water so low, we get out of the bathtub.
I take pleasure in drying Evan’s muscular body with a plush towel. Nurturing him, mending his wounds, loving him has become my everything.
“You crying, Reese?” Evan tips my chin.
“I’m sorry, I’m not really crying.” I rub the back of my hand over tears.
“Babe, don’t cry, you make me want to go out and murder the first guy I see, I’d do anything to know how to take away your tears.”
“But I’m happy, Evan, these are happy tears.” I shake my head, and stop myself from laughing like a lunatic, “Okay, sheesh, no more friggen crying.”
He rubs a hand through my hair, grips the tresses at the nape of my neck and my chin extends upward. His mouth commands over mine, and it’s so hard kissing him for smiling.
We exit the bathroom, and I work the control panel for the electronic blinds. The sun is beaming into the floor to ceiling windows, and we need to rest.
“When I met you, Reese, I told you I wanted people to watch me fuck you,” he says, voice deep and consumed with sex.
My labia quivers. “Evan, you’re hurt, and do not need to exert yourself.”
“I took a few meds, Reese. Open the blinds.”
I press the button. “Okay, Evan, but…”
“But nothing. Stand against the wall, I want those rosy nipples plastered against the window. Not sure yet if I want to come in that beautiful mouth of yours, that soaking wet pussy, or voluptuous ass.”
Evan grips the back of my neck, my mouth opens wide, air condensing against the cool window. The city below is hustling and bustling with people, and the scene is a sight to behold. Evan steps forward and presses his erection against my ass. “Now watch all of Los Angeles envy the love I have for you…”
Epilogue
Reese
Eight Months Later
The music group ‘Cigarettes After Sex’ has mellowed out my mood. The lead singer lulls out the words to Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby. The lyrics weave through my soul almost as if Evan is singing them to me and he's not even by my side.
I'm seated on a stool, the stainless steel counter before me is an organized bit of chaos. The brand new kitchen of The Flour Shoppe is bright yellow and airy. And I'm virtually alone on a Tuesday evening. Powder coats my fingers. It feels good and soothing and maybe, just maybe, it's actually the glass of non-alcoholic wine before me that has placed my mind in a mellow mood as I sway to the music.
Then I feel Jamie's presence as he exits the manager’s office, his new office.
“Jamie, turn it off and die,” I order, not even turning around as I sense him stepping toward the built-in radio system.
“I can't stand you and this damn music.” Jamie holds up an organic egg as I turn around as best as I can to give a smug grin.
At eight months and three weeks, the easiest thing for me to do is turn my head, though my nose has expanded and I suppose my wide lips are Evan's haven.
"This is my song," I say, "just go and leave me be."
He lingers, smile wavering. "I was on my way out the door, the driver should be outside; Chu has to go to Tokyo. Should I stay?"
My head cocks to the side, in mock offense. "Enjoy your trip. Boy, I can run my own bakery."
"But you look like you're about to pop, and what in the world are you making?"
My eyes narrow at the insult.
"Hey, those are your words not mine. Every day you either feel like popping, exploding... or combusting or whatever. And if I have to hear about those damn ankles, we're gonna have a problem."
Jamie straps his leather-studded satchel over his shoulder and appears the fashionable paperboy, vest and cap included. These days my only accessories involve me magically meandering out of the bed.
He asks, "So, whatcha making?"
"Nothing much and I'm just finishing up now," I shrug, "though this isn’t my first time getting busy in my own bakery, thank you very much."
My cell phone rings. I rub the flour onto my apron. A candid of Evan attempting to talk to a horse pops up as my screensaver. With our son on the way, and me in his ear joshing him about his fear of Flash, the gallant steed, Evan took me up on the offer to return to Santa Monica Mountain Range. Besides a good laugh on my part, Evan’s partner coincidentally called, saving the day.
Soon as I press connect, Evan orders. "I'm around the corner, Reese. Be ready when I get inside."
"Okay," I reply and hang up.
"Are you still going to dinner this evening? Why not dress up?" Jamie pitches a curled upper lip as his gander slithers over the purple and red striped maxi dress I'm donning. He always harps about me being in stripes equates to a catastrophe.
"Have you seen my..." I pause. Damn, but I do have tree trunks for ankles these days, but Jamie just said I bitch about my ankles and my belly too much. I lift my glass and pretend it does the trick while downing the last bit of drink. "Whatever, you friggen bastard. When Evan gets here, I'll just tell him I'm too tired to go out."
"And if I carry you to dinner?" Another voice, entirely too manly for Jamie, speaks up.
I almost jump as I turn around. Sheesh, Evan is a wet dream. He's standing a few paces behind Jamie. Tailored slacks. A black dress shirt grazes rock-hard biceps and the two top buttons are undone, giving a glimpse of his chiseled chest.
I gulp. "Dude, you little stinker!"
"I had the feeling that you weren't getting ready to go, Reese." He steps over. The stool I'm sitting on extends high, yet Evan still glances down at me as he issues a rhetorical, “What did I say about you doing as told?"
Jamie arches an eyebrow. "Alpha mode," he mouths.
A warmth creeps up my cheeks. "Well, I didn’t have the chance to get ready, so whatever, Evan.”
He takes the flour off the counter and places it with the rest of the items and cocks his head to the designer Flour Shoppe box next to me.
Pursing my lips, I place the few baked goods into the box. Grab a silver, gauze ribbon and tie the box. Under my breath I argue about how he just got off work and now is content bossing me around.
"Aren't the two of you so cute," Jamie says. "I'll walk you'll out... since this is goodbye until Chu and I get back."
For a moment suspicion makes my cheeks puff out in thought. Then, as I perfect the tie on the bow, I say, "Jamie how many times have I told you there is no such thing as goodbye?"
Evan helps me to my feet.
"I thought you were gonna carry me to the car?" I smirk.
"As you wish..."
"Stop." I punch him softly. The three of us head out the front of the Flour Shoppe. Jamie punches in the key code inside the entryway as I shift weight, standing beneath a royal-blue and purple sky as the sun has just disappeared.
Flour Shoppe is located a few doors down from Nook and smack dab in the middle of the Los Angeles Art Walk. There's never parking in the front. None of the meters have a nanosecond to breathe. There’s paid parking in the rear, but I expect to see Tino's Audi breaking a "loading zone only" law. Not even one of Chu's drivers that should also be waiting for Jamie is there. There is no one in the loading zone. There's nobody strolling down the street at all.
"If there's a friggen zombie pandemic, Evan, I give you my permission to release me from your command."
From behind, Evan kisses me softly on the neck. "I do not accept your kind gesture."
"Well, I would like to accept your ride. Where the hell is your car?"
“We are walking,” Evan replies.
"Jamie." I turn away, as he ushers the keys into his pocket. "Where's Chu? Can you all drop me off at home?"
"You live two blocks up the street," Jamie replies, laughing as if my statement is the most preposterous thing.
Tight lipped, I point to my ankles. And then I make the explosion gesture with my hands near my bowling ball of a belly.
"What's going on?" Evan asks.
"Inside joke," Jamie barely gets the words out for laughing.
After clearing his throat, my best friend adds, "Look, let's head toward your home. If my chauffeur arrives before we make it, I'll give you a ride and Evan can walk the rest of the way all on his lonesome. That work?"
"Perfect. I hope Evan has to walk —"
"It's not far, and if I walk, you walk," Evan cuts in.
We begin the long stretch, of two blocks. Jamie chatters about his pending trip, and I’m content holding Evan’s hand as I pretend to listen. Really, my mind is on the hordes of people inside of some of the galleries on both sides of the street. I’m wondering if they’re having an event, and they all have to squeeze in the respective artsy rooms at dusk.
A few yards away, vibrant chalk on the asphalt in the middle of the street captivates my attention.
There once was a boy ...
He lost a love so great ...
I huff. "Blah, that sucks."
"Huh?" Jamie says, Evan arches and eyebrow.
I point to the ground. "Someone painted on the street: There once was a boy, he lost a love so great—Evan, you sensor some of my poetic music so I'm just gonna stop looking down!" I know I just caught an attitude but I blame it on the hormones and these friggen ankles.
“Oh, look,” Jamie cuts in, “it says, and then he met a tart."
"A tart?" The scrawled font is beautiful, but the words are… my mouth twists. A tart... Evan called me a friggen tart when we first met. He was too polite to call me a bitch, at least that's how I took it.
"She knew not what love was," a man says from off in the distance. As he speaks, a couple steps into the street. The woman has on a flowing dress, yellow, the same color I wore when Evan came into my life. The man is big and strong. They're spirit dancers: holding, clinging, pushing and pulling. There's a tug and a war. All caused by the tart. The woman. Me.
A crowd is meandering from the various art venues, and even Nook.
"The both of us are not apt when it comes to art. So, I asked a few artists on the block and they asked a few more who apparently asked a few more. Everyone is here to see just how much I love you, Reese," Evan says. He drops to one knee.
“Ohhh…” I moan, speechless beyond repair while Evan digs into his pocket.
The Flour Shoppe box in my hand slips from my palm, fingers and tips. The ribbon unravels and a half-dozen cannoli fall out. My grandfather’s cannoli. I hadn’t made the dessert in eight months, I hadn’t set eyes on him in just as long. We were to meet him this evening for dinner.
My eyes blur and I can't even make out Evan’s face. Or the sea of smiling people.
"I haven't had a single cannoli since my granddaughter last made them, and she drops ‘em," Sal says. My grandfather is behind me! He’s here!
I can hardly breathe, rubbing the back of my hand over my eyes.
There's an antique ring in Evan’s hand.
"Is this... is this my grandmother’s ring?"